


The Diary

by Starkzilla



Category: Pacific Rim (2013), StarCraft
Genre: Original Character-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-06
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-06-06 17:43:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 3,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6763852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starkzilla/pseuds/Starkzilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on a long standing RP I'm in. Back story for my poor broken OC who's seen too much and done more than he should. It's also done in first person, as if he's writing in a journal, so please take that into consideration.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I was in my twenties when I killed my first man. I drove a knife into his windpipe, held it steady, stared him dead in the eyes as he kicked and struggled like a dying faun while his blood splattered on my brand new suit. All over a debt he didn't pay back on time. I threw up right after but…

I liked it.

I liked it too much.

It was a test, you see. I'd wandered from job to job after I'd been kicked out of the PPDC until he found me. The golden god with his golden shoes, a false idol that I gladly bowed before and did anything he asked of me.

Anything. Anything and everything.

At first it was just intel. Providing him with information about how the PPDC operated, giving him hints on how to best smuggle technology and kaiju parts both to the highest bidders. Then, once he realized just how fucked up I was at that point he smiled and said "Hey kid, do you want to make me happy?"

I couldn't have said yes any faster and that's how I wound up becoming his personal attack dog.

He praised me because of course he did. He saw just how desperate and eager to please and wanting to fit in somewhere -anywhere- again and he used it against me.

No. That's not right. He tried to use me, but in the end it was my hands, my desire, my hunger that drove me to do whatever he asked of me. He was all I had at the time so of course I stupidly bloodied my hands for him.

I thought I even loved him at one point; the fairy tale idea that he'd see just how hard I was working for him and that he'd finally elevate me to something more than a weapon was the hope that fueled me but no, I was never in love. It was some twisted and complex reflection of most of the "affection" that I'd been shown throughout my entire life, excluding my twin sister and my former jaeger co-pilot.

But I still stayed by his side for far too long, did far too many awful things, let him use and abuse me until She came along.

She hated and despised me but I -had- to be near Her. I'm not sure why. There was just this pull She had, like gravity, that made me want to find out who and what She was. Much like a child who's told not to go near a fire I eagerly thrust my hand into the flames and came back burned and scarred.

She was worth it. Every time She sent me death threats (a human hand in a jar? I think I actually swooned) and things to wipe my presence from existence I still went after Her like the idiot I am. I'm not sure how it happened but I think I wore Her down and She found me amusing in some annoying sort of way.

That's how I ended up serving Her Majesty and I have no regrets. She and Her swarm have been a life changing event. Yes, I still kill, but this time it's not over petty things like money and promises. This time the weapon has a purpose instead of blindly striking everything within reach.

And whatever god there is now, help me, because I think I love Her. Or do I love the Swarm? Am I replacing one horrible form of attention for another? How far down the rabbit hole must I fall before I can finally learn how to properly use emotions? Could it be some side effect of Her connecting me to their mind?

Is this why my drifting always went south, especially the closer it got to The Incident? No. No. I need that kind of connection to others even if I take it too far. Without it I'm nothing. Mindless. A rage-filled vessel of meat and blood without a single goal. A rabid dog that needs to be put down.

At least with Her I have a purpose again. I feel happy instead of conflicted about the blood that stains my now clawed hands. I can even tolerate Her suitor instead of seeing rage through reptilian eyes whenever he's around.

(He's also easy on the eyes and I love his accent but don't tell anyone about that.)

I'm learning. I'm evolving. I'm finally fitting in.


	2. Chapter 2

I think I'm the reason my father died.

During our first year of high school, when my twin announced her desire to join the military so she could, and I quote, "make a difference" he did his best to talk her out of it.

His best wasn't enough to keep our mother squawking at her like a dying hen, encouraging her to do something better with her life as opposed to my more artistic and creative urges. Then came my desire to change.

No. Not change. To be who I was supposed to be.

He accepted it awkwardly fine but my mother... my mother. It was like I'd driven a knife into her heart just for wanting to be myself. The stress between us became so strong that my father fell ill and…

The funeral was a shitstorm. I'd rather not talk about it. It's the one of the few things me and my twin agree upon.

But I still blame myself. So did my mother, apparently, when she kicked me out of the house after she found out it wasn't "just a fad". I was suddenly homeless, trying to make it through high school, while my sister became the chosen child.

My mother's hatred for my wants just further pushed me towards them until I graduated high school during many years of couch surfing via friends' parents. I went straight from that to an acclaimed culinary school while my sister pursued her need to "help lost people”.

Maybe it was her way of wanting to help me when she couldn't before. I never asked. We fell out of touch after a few awkward texts and calls.

She rose in the ranks while I struggled to fight the internal beast that tore through every decent thing I did until I admitted defeat.

I dropped out. I was too depressed from my mother's years of venomous commentary to continue my schooling. But my sister. My twin was always stronger than me.

She continued to excel. She joined the marines. I couldn't even get past my second year of culinary school. But I was determined to prove my mother wrong or, on the least, prove to my father I could be something.

That all went to hell when the kaiju attacked. They needed people willing to fight in their shiny new jaegers and they needed them fast. 

So I did the stupidest thing in my life. I signed up.

Needless to say my life's full of bad choices but it was for the better. I think. Anyhow, back to when I finally did make it to training.

That's how I met -her-. The best/worst person I've ever known.

She accepted my awkwardness, my not being "normal" (but who is), and eventually we became friends. Then, later on after she lost her first co-pilot, we somehow matched up in the drift compatibility training.

As is the story of my life, things got bad after that but I'm tired and that's a saga for another day.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (*) refers back to this story http://archiveofourown.org/works/5015158

So.

My first assignment, after he took me under his wing made of deep red silk and crushed velvet, was both a trial run and a desire to see just how high I'd jump when he asked.

He saw that I wasn't quite right after the Incident, that I was looking for any sort of acceptance after getting kicked out of the program, and boy did he take advantage of that in a way I'm both proud and ashamed of.

But this story isn't about that. It's about said assignment.

I was still fresh meat, wet behind the ears but with a massive grudge weighing down on my shoulders that I needed to get off one way or another. He knew. It wasn't hard; the time after I was "discharged" was rough and money was a necessity.

That fucking puppet master. I can't help but wonder how many other people he took advantage of who'd left the program, either by choice or by force.

He broke into my apartment(*) and of course I attacked. Flight versus fight was all I had going for me at that point but boy, did I never realize just how big that asshole was. Hitting him was like punching a brick wall.

Said brick wall also punched back. He was wearing rings. Sharp rings. I still bear the scars.

Next thing I knew I was being hogtied and tossed into the back of a vehicle while he chatted with some other guy about his latest "acquisition", which I hoped meant me.

It did.

When I came to I was in a well furnished room, with a bump the size of a rock on the side of my head that throbbed in beat to my pulse. Next to me, in a chair, sat a guy who looked far too comfortable.

The golden god walked over. I can still hear the clink of his tacky shoes to this day.

He pulled something from his pocket and with a well-practiced flick of his wrist there was the blade of a butterfly knife uncomfortably close to my right eye. I won't get into the details but I said yes to what he offered and the next thing I knew I was free.

The man sitting to my side just smiled wider.

I've never seen a more disturbing smile on anyone else... other than the ones I've doled out myself. But I did learn from the best.


	4. Chapter 4

Queenie.

Where do I even begin to start with Her? Besides the obvious I mean. Even if She wasn't head of a world-destroying race I think I'd still find something to like about Her.

Not that I don't already! Once you get past Her cold, murderous exterior She's actually quite pleasant to sit and chat with, even with the constant threat of bodily harm. Not that such a thing's ever stopped me before.

She likes tea and loves spicy things, the hotter the better. Maybe that's why She's kept me around for as long as She has?

No. That's a terrible joke. Please don't read too much into that.

Really.

Jim would kill me. Or try to, at least. But more on him... later. If ever.

It's complicated.

Anyhow.

She took me in when I was in a bad place, even after all of the tormenting and pestering I'd given Her. I acted much like a kid on a playground, annoyingly pestering someone I liked because I didn't know how to properly express affection. I still don't.

Somehow it worked on Her. Maybe it was my stubbornness. Maybe it was my refusal to back away even with multiple death threats looming over my head. Maybe it was because the golden god used me just as that Trojan army did and She was my last chance at... something.

I'm not going to say She didn't treat me as badly as he did. That'd be foolish. She was just as intimidating as him but with an army to back Her up in case I stepped out of line.

Of course I stepped out of line. I had to test Her. I can't work for anyone who can't keep me grounded, otherwise I might as well just go into business for myself. No one needs that to happen.

In the end I managed to settle in, somewhat awkwardly, and I've even made a friend or two out of a couple of the bugs. Izzy's a sweetheart even if she hates to admit she kind of has emotions but I'll forgive her for that.

The Russian can kiss my ass and I owe him for the broken nose that he gave me. Seriously, what is it with people breaking my damn nose? I'm not a boxer. Even still I like to think I can trust him, at least at arm's length, in case it comes down to such.

The Mother is... something. I have the feeling she'd just as soon crush me under foot than let me stay on the Leviathan but I can't shake the thought that she gets jealous when I spend time around the "lesser" bugs and give them gifts. That holiday fiasco did not win me any points with her.

Now, Queenie. I could write a whole chapter about Her, and maybe I will one day, but to try and condense Her into only a few sentences? Where do I begin? Do I like Her because I know She's a good person under all that chitin and sharpness? (I'm going to pretend that it counts as clothes because then things get really awkward otherwise.)

Do I like her because She's given me tons of chances without also using me for Her own twisted means? Even if She has She's at least been nice about it and the pay's way better than what the PPDC and the golden god gave me.

Is it something more than that? Okay, I'll be honest. Anyone who is decent enough to tolerate my... fits (they're fits, I don't care what medsci said) and doesn't cast me aside earns points from me. She's also nice enough to share books with me, which I find adorably amusing because who still uses bound paper in this day and age?

She also... okay, I think I've written enough about her. Let's just say I think She's a good person and doesn't give Herself enough credit. She's also not what most people seem to think She is, even with the swarm under Her thumb.

But I'd still rather put up with hordes of clattering, screeching, bloodthirsty bugs than go back to who and what I was before. At least they seem to get me. For the most part.

Now if only I could find a tailor who can make clothing that doesn't rip under pressure when claws are applied. Suits don't come cheap and I refuse to go into battle without looking my best.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning, hints at violence within. Trying to keep it muted for the squeamish.

I told him I _TOLD_ HIM

NO KIDS. NO INNOCENTS. NO

No...

But he didn't listen. He never did. I warned the boss that he was unstable.

Panic coming from me should've meant something but I guess not.

Money, profit, cashing in on the misery of others was the only thing that mattered back then. What else was there to do during a war against monsters that rose from the sea like old gods?

Or new gods.

Maybe those crackpots in Hong Kong were right all along. Maybe the kaiju weren't a death from below but a new beginning of some sort. Cleansing the earth of all the shit we'd fucked up in the first place.

If those I once fought with can see the good in those... things then maybe I was wrong to begin with. Or maybe I'm just telling myself that Her ideals are right, that I'm not jumping ship to join the first crew that'll take me in again.

Wait. Where... was I.

Oh. Innocents.

I'm not saying I'm perfect or that there's no blood on my hands. I'd be lying if I denied my participation.

I've done some shitty things I'll both brag about and things I might even admit to some sort of guilt about later on but... he, wow.

If there ever was a devil he would've put him to shame, let's just put it that way.

There was a time when the golden god wanted a favor repaid. The person was nice enough, a simple fisher that occasionally dredged up remnants from those **FUCKING BEASTS** that--

_Deep. Breaths. Remember the therapy._

They found parts from those... things. Those beasts that stalked the seas.

The person eventually fell short of their quota. We were sent out. I had to go along with him to learn the "tools of the trade", as he put it.

Sometimes I can still hear the screaming in my head. It's mostly the worker, sometimes their family, sometimes... but once in a while my voice joins in, howling at him to stop.

Either way it's too high of a pitch, too frantic, too late.

It never works.

That's why I had to kill him. That's why I ended up with my knife in another man's throat for the second time in my life. He refused to respect the rules. He forgot we're not cattle.

We're not sheep the golden god could lead about. Or at least I wasn't, once She found me.


	6. Chapter 6

Stitch.

Where to begin with that dorky girl. If it wasn't for her I think I'd be even worse of a person than I am now. She saved me. She made me not become a monster.

And she's a hyena.

Spotted hyena to be precise. At least I think she's a girl. It's not like I can ask her or take her to a vet, and she doesn't seem to mind what I call her.

I've raised her since she was a pup and, if I was ever the emotional type, she's probably the only thing I'd consider to be a best friend to me. Ignore the fact that she's illegal pretty much everywhere.

Yeah. That's right. A hyena.

Let's rewind some time before I dig my grave even deeper.

I like to call it Incident 1.5.

He knew exactly how to force me into doing things I wouldn't. He knew... things anyone outside of medsci wouldn't... shouldn't know.

The mere thought of someone on the inside letting him know such things about me makes me want to...

No, no. It's in the past. He never used it against me, at least I don't think he did, but he did...

NEVER MIND.

Moving on.

Incident 1.5.

Transport things to people, don't ask questions, and don't fuck up. That was the job. That was before I took down my so-called partner and kicked his still twitching carcass into the water. The first time I enjoyed watching someone die.

He deserved it.

Move this, smuggle that. It was usually parts from those deep sea bastards, nothing I had to directly touch, but once in a while live things passed by.

I still can't eat lobster or shrimp to this day after I saw my first kaiju skinmite in person.

But back to Stitch.

It was during the golden god's rare animal parts smuggling days. Right before kaiju parts were the newest fad.

She was a fuzzy howling ball in a too small cage.

I was never comfortable with the smuggling. Let that be known right now. I gave him a month's salary for her the moment I saw her in that container.

I did horrible things during that time but she was worth every damn bit of that money. The constant feeding, the training, the biting... I regret none of it and I never will. She saved me from myself.

She's my angel.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More vague background story on Danior. (There's also a hidden song lyric/ref because I do what I do.)

Backpedaling. Back to a farm. Somewhere... midwest, Pennsylvania maybe? Lea had given up on our mother and our family as a whole but I foolishly tried to keep some connection. Who knows why. I've always been a glutton for punishment.

So when the offer of "visiting relatives" (AKA: show off the fancy Jaeger pilot for bragging rights) came up I accepted the invitation to go see a distant aunt who owned a farm but only on the condition that my co-pilot could come with me.

It's hard to remember most of the situation but she loved it. She walked through the rows of tall grass and laughed as I struggled to keep up. I wasn't the fit sort of person, never was into the outdoors like she was, but seeing the smile on her face as she ran about... Damn.

"There's no kaiju here!" she said, once I led her to the remnants of a pioneer schoolhouse that defied age and nature both. We sat on the edge of a cliff and watched the sun set over an old church; that was the first time I admitted to myself that I loved her and the last time she loved me, probably. At least before everything went to hell.

I was also jealous of her enthusiasm if only because I knew there were worse monsters lurking behind the Rockwell setting she saw. There were other things, ones who wore human skin and oh, if I could only take that robotic machine to their bigoted bodi--...

She found the rustic area fun and exciting, especially when she could chase the calves and pet the chicks. It was torture to me (pick the thickest branch--you are wrong how dare you lie--)

We spooned together in a far too small bed upstairs in the top floor of the farmhouse but the next morning it was back to exploring. Well, exploring things that weren't me.

They never asked. She was just my friend, taking a break from duty.

We were just soldiers on vacation.

We were...


	8. Chapter 8

During middle and high school they'd make fun of my clothing. I was awkward for sure but sweatshirts and sweatpants were an acceptable thing, right?

No.

I wore them like armor because they hid parts of me I didn't want known but that still didn't stop the taunting.

It wasn't until I went to work for the PPDC that I learned there was a better style for me. Oh why didn't I learn that sooner. Once the money rolled in I covered myself in fabrics way beyond my pay grade but damn, for once I looked how I felt. I looked NICE. Suits, ties, vests, watches on chains, cuff links... I went the whole nine yards and for the first time I felt... right.

Hell, maybe that's why she found me interesting.

The other recruits wore the basic outfits but I'd be damned if I lowered myself to that level after decades of awful wardrobes.

Anyhow, when I showed up to our first test piloting session together, dressed in a full suit like I worked for the FBI, she actually laughed in my face and yanked on my tie while asking what I was doing.

Let's just say I got to know her a lot better later on that night. I think I'm still missing that tie. Maybe she took it as a trophy. I wouldn't be surprised.

But I didn't stop dressing "better than I was," as some people liked to say. I even wore cuff links with my drive suit when they'd let me, just to remind myself of who I was.

Of who I wanted to be.

Even to this day I make sure I look my best even when going to battle for Her, though I suspect she finds it amusing seeing one of her swarm charging into combat wearing a vest, tie, and fine slacks.

Hell, if I could find Stitch a suit she wouldn't immediately eat I'd do it. We all need to look our best, right? Can't leave behind a tacky corpse.


End file.
